Games Even the mighty like to play. When genies play games, the objects of their attention must learn the rules. And fast.

From the tiniest seeds grow the greatest of wonders. When the Choir Invisible played the music that created all that is, was, and ever will be, a single singer was late with a single note. That one misplaced note left a void in Creation, a piece that was left unmade.

From that void have sprung dragons, titans, and genies. Though they have caused much chaos, the wonders and marvels that they leave in their wake have created a vivid world of imagination that lives beside the world of reality. It is in the delay of a single singer that the hand of the Creator is manifest.

Deep in that unknowable void a conclave of mighty genies meets. Creation trembles in anticipation.

“So how do we judge this one?”

“Usual. Who does the most ironic twisting? Hey, you got any corn dogs? I love those things.”

“So make some. They’re disgusting and no way I’m creating them. We can’t just go for irony, the conditions would be pointless.”

“I’ll buy that. So who can get the biggest twist from intentions just by the conditions you spelled out.”

“Who judges?”

“Me. I’m fair.”

“Phhht.”

“Consensus vote.”

“Oh yeah, that always works well. We each wind up getting one vote.”

“Can’t vote for yourself.”

“And if mine really is the best?”

“Then you’ll get four votes. Still can’t vote for yourself.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

---

The young woman walked down the street while talking to her phone, ignoring everyone around her. It wasn’t a problem, everyone else was doing the same thing, each wrapped up in a conversation that was important enough to ignore the world around him.

“There were at least twenty at the casting call, but, yeah, I think I got a shot at it.” Pause. “Yeah, I think the marketing guys liked my hair best. Of course I know they’re the ones who’re important here.”

Weaving through the crowd without seeing a single person, she continued, “Oh yeah, she was there but is just out of luck. Completely luckless. Total bad hair day. So I’ve at least got her out of the way.”

Tracey was a good looking woman; tall, thin, and fit. Shoulder length brown hair with frosted tips drew eyes to her clear face, but they swiftly drifted down to her ample chest. If she lived anywhere but Hollywood she’d be a striking beauty. In Tinseltown she was one more pretty wannabe actress among hundreds.

“Oh, I don’t know. Dog food, I think. Their agent was doable, that’s for sure. Yeah, I’ve seen the director before. He did that soup commercial I didn’t get. Whatever. I can work with him. Just need them to call me.”

She had another casting call that morning and then she had to get to her paying job. Her car was in the shop and she didn’t have money for a cab, so she was on foot. Better than missing an audition. This one might be her ticket to stardom, but only if she showed up. She was lucky both auditions were in the same area, but she’d have made it, somehow, even if they were at opposite ends of the state.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Tracey continued to her phone, “the next one’s the big one. No, just breakfast cereal. One of the ones that’s all sugar. No, Ive never tried it. Oh, yeah, they’ve got Bruce Willis for this one, so I could get to work with him. No, don’t be silly, he won’t be at a cattle call, but some of his people will, so I can do some networking. Never know…

“Oh, here I am. Gotta go get my face on. Say hi to Ken for me. See ya later.”

She walked into a room full of beautiful women and signed in. Then headed right to the bathroom to straighten her hair and fix up her makeup before they called her number.

A few long hours later she ran from the studio to catch her bus. As soon as she found a seat she dug out her phone and started checking messages. She updated her Facebook status, lying that she was hopeful she’d get the part. She knew better, but maybe it would pressure the car commercial people who’d been waffling between her and another girl for a week now.

She ran into the mall and headed to Macy’s. In the employee’s restroom she quickly changed and fixed her makeup again. Looking pretty was a primary qualification at the perfume counter, even if her job was mostly to spritz people walking by.

She knew she was lucky to have a job at all. At the cereal audition, three actresses she knew confided that they’d have to go home if they didn’t get a gig. Bringing in money meant she could stay in town longer, and that gave her more auditions, more chances for a break. She wanted to keep her job, so she did it with the same heart she threw in to her auditions.

Quickly changing and taking her place on the floor she prepared herself for a long shift. She locked her smile in place and started greeting shoppers.

“Tracey,” snapped a floor manager, “clean up the cabinets.”

“Yes sir,” she smiled while picturing herself coming back some day as a star with an entourage and seeing him fall over himself to escort her around.

With pleasant daydreams running through her head she unlocked the cabinet and started straightening and cleaning the bottles. Suddenly the noise stopped.

No muzak.

No bustling crowd.

Not even crickets. Not that there were crickets in the Mall or possibly anywhere in LA. It’s just that movies had conditioned her to expect to hear crickets when it got quiet.

And why did it get so quiet anyway?

She turned around slowly, expecting a man in a hockey mask. Or a crowd of zombies.

“Hi there. About time,” said a little girl in a gingham dress. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

“About time for what?”

“About time you rubbed my bottle and let me out,” the girl piped. “You can’t imagine how terrible it is to be trapped in there. I mean, that stuff smells nice at first, and in small doses, but try living in it.”

“Oh. My. God.” Tracey exploded. “You live in a bottle. You’re a genie. You’re going to give me wishes.”

The little girl looked around nonplussed. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Oh this is fantastic. I wish I was a–”

“Hold on,” the little girl shouted. “First, there are rules I’ve got to– And what’s with this ‘you’re a genie’ stuff? No one believes in genies anymore. I like convincing people.”

Tracey bent down to her height, “Well, you came out after I rubbed a bottle, said you lived there, and stopped time. I didn’t see any better explanation.”

“Hmph,” she snorted. “Fine. Then there’s no point in the disguise either.”

She grew suddenly, ending up an inch taller than Tracey. Her hair turned from blond with pigtails to brunette, falling lusciously down past her tiny waist. Her poor homespun dress turned into something smooth and shimmery. “That’s better. Stand up, Tracey dear, you don’t need to kneel to me.”

She was still bending down to talk to the little girl. The genie’s size change took her by surprise, but she recovered. With the same single mindedness that kept her going to audition after audition despite nothing but rejections, she asked, “So, about the wishes?”

The genie scowled, “Changing size like that isn’t easy. A little appreciation wouldn’t hurt.”

It dawned on Tracey that the genie liked performing. She needed to cultivate her like she was a talent scout or producer. “Oh, it was very impressive, I’m sure. You just made it look so easy I didn’t even think how much had to go into it. I guess that’s the down side of being so good at it, you make everyone think there’s nothing to it.”

That brought a smile to the genie’s lips, “I guess it does at that. Thank you,” she said with a small curtsy. “Now, like I said, we have rules for wishes. You’ll get three wishes, but you have to wish them all before I grant any of them. All your wishes must have prepositions in them, and I can change any prepositions at will, with any other changes to make sure the wish still makes sense. Fair enough?”

“Oh. Uh. Prepositions?”

The genie groaned.

---

“Just a second,” Tracey said triumphantly as she pulled out her phone. A moment later she asked sheepishly, “Can I get internet access?”

The tall, glamorous woman tapped her foot impatiently. “A preposition is a word governing the relation between a noun and– Sure. You have access,” she said with a negligent toss of her hand. “I’ll just sample some of the wares while you read.” The fact that the cabinets were locked did not hinder her and she began collecting perfumes and makeup.

Tracey was dreaming of fame and fortune and trying to figure out how to ensure there was a preposition in each wish.

“What if I don’t have a preposition in a wish?”

The genie looked over, “Then I don’t grant that wish. You lose one third of them. Try including one.”

“Then I wish I could work with Angelina Jolie,” she blurted.

“Good. Wished.”

“Wait. I can do better. That’s just one job. Let me do it better.”

“No can do. No backsies.”

“This is harder than it looks,” she complained.

“Everything is,” the genie quipped while trying a completely unnecessary concealer.

Working with Angelina would get her exposure and a job, but she wanted more. She wanted to rule this town. That took a lot of movies. She still had two wishes left, she could do this.

Just had to make sure to include a preposition.

“Could you help me out? If I tell you what I want, could you help me make the wish right?”

The lady started, honestly surprised. She laughed, “I didn’t think people could still surprise me. I believe you’re the first person to ever ask me that. Yes, you are. In all of history, you are the first person to ever ask me to help make a wish.”

It wasn’t mocking laughter. She wasn’t laughing at Tracey. It was honest laughter from surprise and amusement. Then it stopped.

“No. I won’t help you. You’re on your own.”

Tracey pouted, even though she knew it wouldn’t help.

“Can I think about it?”

“As long as you want. The whole world’s frozen, though, so you might want to wish before you get hungry. Or have to pee,” she added.

“Fine. I get it. OK, forget it. I’ve got my next wish. I wish I would be in two movies a year for the next ten years.” That should cover her.

“Twenty movies. Two a year for ten years. Wished. One more. What will it be?”

That would handle her profession. She should have wished she starred in the movies, but she knew she had talent. If she could get in, she’d have a hit. Still, money wouldn’t hurt. And maybe something on the love life so she wouldn’t have to worry. She had it.

“Last one, then. I wish I had a rich boyfriend to take care of me.”

The genie sighed heavily, “Asking for my help was such a promising start, but then you got so predictable. Fine. Come with me.”

Tracey followed her through a crowd of statues.

---

“Let me get my purse.”

“Don’t bother,” answered the genie. “It’s not yours anymore.”

“What do you mean,” she asked with a touch of worry.

“I mean that purse belongs to Tracey Clint, and you’re not Tracey Clint anymore. She isn’t the person who can fulfill your wishes, so you’re not her anymore.”

Nervously, she looked in one of the store mirrors. She was still herself.

“Yes I am,” she insisted.

The genie stopped. “We’re moving through space, not time. As we get closer to our goal you will become who you need to be.”

“Where are we going?”

“Paramount Studios, Sound Stage C.”

“Why?”

“That’s where Angelina Jolie is working on Dead Plains Drifter.”

She jumped with excitement and nearly twisted her ankle. Jumping in heels is not a good idea. It wasn’t nearly enough to spoil her mood.

“Yes. Oh, fantastic. What’s my role? Who do I play?”

The genie kept walking, not saying a word but smiling grimly. Finally she said, “No one. You’re not in the movie.”

“But that was my wish.”

“It was indeed,” the genie agreed. “But I got to change the preposition. You are working for Angelina Jolie. Not with.”

“Oh,” she slumped.

The tap-tap-tap of her heels on the sidewalk changed and her feet dropped. She looked down and saw she was wearing flats. Brown. Probably better for an assistant since she’d be running around a lot.

She tried to look on the bright side. She’d be on a movie set and could meet a lot of important people. If she impressed Ange– Ms. Jolie, she could still go far. And she had her other wishes too.

Despite losing her heels her head was at the same height. She’d gotten taller. Her skirt got longer and divided. She was wearing a pantsuit. That was a unusual for her. She liked to show off her legs, but she’d wear the uniform if she had to.

“Soon you’ll figure it out,” the genie said cryptically.

“Figure what out,” Tracey asked. “What’s up with my voice? Am I a smoker now?” Her voice was huskier than she was used to.

“While working on a set? Please. Bombers, psychopaths, and rapists can be forgiven. Smokers, never.”

When she lost her nail polish and saw hair on her arms she figured it out.

“You’re turning me into a man,” she accused.

“Not at all. You are a man, and have been since you finished your wishes. I’m just bringing you to the place where that will be obvious.”

“But I don’t want to be a man. I like who I am.”

“Then you shouldn’t have made any wishes. Too bad. Your name is Hans. Hans Smithfelt.”

“What if I stop moving? Will I stop changing if I stay away from the studio?”

“Yes. Until you starve to death. No, that’s a lie. You’ll die of thirst first.”

She could still be in the movies, she thought. And walked.

Her pantsuit became a suit. Grey slacks, white shirt, thin black tie and a sport jacket. Her breasts collapsed into a flat chest. Her hair was short and slicked back, and she had a pair of glasses.

Even knowing it was coming she was surprised when she felt a growth at her groin and had to change the way she walked to avoid rubbing it.

“Here we are, Hans,” the genie said, handing him a small box. “Welcome to your new life.”

She vanished, and in an instant people were moving around him. He’d never been so happy to hear sounds.

“There you are,” a woman said to him. He looked up to see Angelina Jolie. Remembering something he didn’t know a moment before he made sure not to look her in the eyes. “Tea,” she demanded.

He handed her the box he was carrying, hoping that it held her tea. It was.

It was a long day. He was little more than a gofer. “Get the new script pages,” Ms. Jolie commanded. It was the first thing she’d said to him since she demanded her tea. It was also a chance to impress her so he took off at a run. People got out of his way. A running man must have a mission. He liked that.

“Can I get the new pages for Ms. Jolie?” he asked at the writer’s pit. He wasn’t sure how he knew where to go. Genie’s work, he guessed.

“You can go to the trailer, you know. You don’t have to come all the way down here.”

“How else can I make sure I’ve got the latest?”

“Are you bringing in more donuts tomorrow?”

A bit confused at the change of topic, he decided “Sure thing.”

“Then here are the changes we’re looking at for tomorrow too. They’re not final,” he warned.

Hans didn’t get any acknowledgment when he handed the pages to his boss, but she did smile slightly. He’d done good.

At the end of the day he found his address in his wallet. He looked for his purse before catching himself. He had a car, a Prius. It had a GPS inside, so he didn’t have to worry about finding his way home, to a much nicer neighborhood than he used to live in.

Things were looking up as he climbed the stairs to his second floor walk in.

“Well hello there, stranger. Long day, huh?”

He snapped his head around in surprise. A shockingly handsome red haired man rolled out in a wheelchair. He was smiling, but Hans could tell he was putting on a front. Somehow he didn’t mind. It was better to pretend to be cheerful than to wallow in pain.

“Hello yourself,” he answered back.

“Are you going to make me stand up before I get a kiss today,” he asked teasingly.

The third wish. He wanted a rich boyfriend to take care of him. It looked like he’d be caring for his rich boyfriend instead. He could live with that, he thought as he crouched down to give him a welcoming kiss. There was something enchanting about him, working so hard to appear cheerful despite pain.

“I heard a tasty rumor today. They’ll be looking for a director for that horror pic in a few months. If you can get a good recommendation from Angelina, I bet you’d be a shoe-in.”

Hans smiled, “I’ll work on her. I bet I would, long as I have a good luck charm like you in my corner. But that is for tomorrow.”

There was another advantage to being a man. He could lift his boyfriend out of his chair to carry him.